Yup, That's My Boss
by Beloved of Eireann
Summary: Throughout history, some countries and their bosses have had unusually close relationships. These are the stories of those bosses. Series of oneshots, historical. Rated T for language. R&R.
1. Chapter 1: America- Harry Truman

_**I wrote a bunch of oneshots about countries and their most famous bosses throughout history, and I'mma start publishing them now. For the first one, we have my favorite president, Harry Truman. Enjoy!**_

Chapter 1

America: Harry S Truman

Alfred F. Jones, the personification of the United States of America, walked into the Oval Office and saw his boss, President Harry S Truman, applying his signature to a piece of paper, then look up.

As Truman adjusted his glasses, he said, "Afternoon, Alfred. You enjoyed visiting England, I hope?"

"Yeah, boss, it was great!" Alfred leaned over the desk, accidentally knocking over Truman's sign that read, 'The Buck Stops Here,' in the process.

"Dammit- sorry, boss!" America scrambled to pick up the sign and put it back on the desk, while Truman rubbed his temples.

"It's fine, Alfred. Why don't you go see if-"

"C'mon, boss, I'm fine! What were you just signing, by the way?"

"An executive order," Truman said, his tone making it clear that Alfred should drop the subject.

As usual, though, America didn't pick up on such subtle signals. "An executive order? What'd it do?"

President Truman sighed. "I've just desegregated the armed forces."

"You- heh heh… good one, boss…"

"Alfred," Truman said sternly, "this is not a joke. If men are willing to fight and die for this country- for

"You- heh heh… good one, boss…"

"Alfred," Truman said sternly, "this is not a joke. If men are willing to fight and die for this country- for _you_, dammit- then we're going to let- no, we're going to _encourage_ them, by God!"

"But, boss, they're-"

"_What_?" Truman's voice was icy.

"Nothing, sir," Alfred said contritely.

"No, Alfred. You thought it, so you say it. What are they?"

"They're… they're black, boss…" America murmured ashamedly.

"_That_, Alfred, I expect from Strom Thurmond. _Not_ from you." The president's look was worse than angry- it was cold and almost disappointed.

"Sorry, boss…"

"If anyone else- and I mean _anyone_, Alfred- had said that to me, they'd be cleaning out their desk right now. As it is, perhaps you should go home. I'll have someone call if I need you." Truman returned to his papers.

o.o.o.o

'_I'll have someone call if I need you._' That one sentence carried more dismissal than anything else President Truman could have said. President Roosevelt had called Alfred _personally_.

When Alfred got home, he found that the door was unlocked and that his son Thomas, the Commonwealth (as he insisted on being called) of Virginia, was sitting at his table in his army uniform, cleaning his rifle.

"Hey, dude," America said.

Thomas rose and saluted. "Guten tag, Vater. I request permission to take Maryland outside und shoot him in the head."

"What? Why?"

"To start with, he is an obnoxious arschloch."

"No- no shooting people in the head."

"The stomach, then."

"No, dude!"

"Verdammt. Why are you in such a bad mood? Und since when are you even capable of _having_ bad moods?"

"Rough day at work."

"Let me guess- you mouthed off to President Truman, again, und he kicked you out of his office. Why?"

"He's integrating the Army," Alfred explained.

Thomas arched an eyebrow. "Really, now?"

"You don't like it either, do you?"

"Whether I _like_ it or not is irrelevant. President Truman made his decision, it is our job to enforce it."

"You didn't answer me."

"Nor do I intend to. Auf wiedersehen, Vater." Thomas finished reassembling his rifle, then shouldered it and walked out.

o.o.o.o

Alfred knocked on President Truman's office door.

"Come in."

When America entered the room, Truman looked up. "I thought I told you I'd have someone call if-"

"You did, boss, but I had something I needed to say."

"It had better be important, if you felt it necessary to violate my instructions _and _to interrupt me."

"It is, boss. I… I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. I was out of line, sir."

"Yes, Alfred. You certainly were." Truman rose from his seat. "Walk with me, would you?"

Out in the halls of the White House, President Truman and America stopped in front of the portrait of Thomas Jefferson.

"Alfred," Truman said, "In the Declaration of Independence, President Jefferson wrote that '_we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights_-'"

"'-_That among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness_.' I know, sir, I was there." America paused. "President Jefferson owned slaves, sir."

"And my family celebrated the death of Lincoln," Truman said. "But that doesn't mean I can't do what's right for the American people- _all _the people. Do you understand?"

"Honestly, sir? No."

"It means I don't care if a man's black, white, or purple- if he wants to put his life on the line for his country, he can."

Alfred nodded. "I still don't understand, sir, but you're the boss."

"Good. I have work to do, Alfred- I'll call if I need you."

Alfred walked off grinning.

_**This is set in 1948, so I made America a bit more serious, coming out of WWII, and also more than a bit racist. Next one is Ireland: Padráig Pearse.**_


	2. Chapter 2: Belgium- Albert I

_**Right, time for a long-awaited update. I know I promised you guys Padráig Pearse in this chapter, but inspiration struck me when I was reading about the flooding of Flanders in a book called **__**Turn Around and Run Like Hell**_**.**_** It's by Joseph Cummins, and if you haven't read it, you should.**_

Chapter 2

Belgium- Albert I

Belgium entered her boss' office just in time to see Germany and his ambassador storm out in anger.

"What's wrong with Germany?" Belgium asked, sitting across the desk from King Albert.

The young king looked angrier than she had ever seen him before. "The Germans have… requested… permission to move through Belgian territory in order to attack France."

"What?" Belgium wasn't crazy about France (nor did she know anyone who was), but to let Germany have free rein to attack through her territory could end the war in weeks, and leave Belgium herself surrounded. "You didn't-"

"I told him I rule a nation, not a highway." Albert looked evenly at her. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. They're going to invade."

He nodded, turning his chair to look at the map of Europe that hung on his wall.

"Britain will come to our aid, sir."

"Hmm… I only hope that that will be enough…"

o.o.o.o

Belgium was invaded on 4 August 1914. The same day, the British Empire and all its possessions declared war on Germany.

"Come, Belgium," King Albert said to his nation as the Germans advanced on Brussels, "we are going to Flanders."

"Sir, you go. I'll hold off Germany for as long as I can."

Albert considered this. "Meet us at the coast when you cannot keep fighting."

He nodded; they shook hands and parted ways.

The German Army was colossal- 1.5 million men. When she saw them, Belgium silently cursed herself for not building up her army. The machineguns they had were pulled by _dogs_, of all things!

"Belgium!" Germany called to her, "I vill giff you a chance to see your boss' folly und surrender!"

"Eat dirt and die!" she shot back.

"Haff it your vay, then…"

The dog-drawn machineguns were set up facing the Germans, and Germany ordered his men, "Charge."

They began their advance, and Belgium shouted, "FIRE!"

The machineguns chattered and artillery roared, and Germans were cut down in droves, screaming as they were shot, blown apart, or both.

This continued for weeks until a German brigade overran the Belgian position, forcing the troops back.

Germany himself came after Belgium, hitting her in the back with the butt of his rifle and knocking her to the ground.

"You should haff take my offer vhen you had the chance," he said coldly.

"Got to Hell." She brought her knee up and hit the huge blond man dead in the groin. He gritted his teeth in pain, and she slipped away, running for Flanders.

o.o.o.o

King Albert, Scotland, and Ireland were at the Flanders HQ when Belgium arrived. King Albert looked relieved to see her alright, Scotland was bouncing around like a child at the prospect of a fight, and Ireland was looking sour and muttering something about 'Home Rule.'

"England sends his regards," Scotland said, "But he cannae make it. Stuck in Paris."

"The bastard," Ireland muttered. Knowing him, that could mean either England or France.

"Well," Belgium said with forced optimism, "we'll just have to hold the Germans off on our own, won't we?"

"Aye!" Scotland said. "Whet d'ye say, Seán?"

"Let's get this mess o'erwith, Oi s'pose."

They all got fresh uniforms and rifles, and set out to Flanders.

o.o.o.o

After weeks of unproductive slaughter and inexorable German advance, King Albert called Belgium, Scotland, and Ireland to his field office.

"I've been informed of a way to halt the German advance," he said, "and I'm going to take it."

"What are we going to do, sir?" Belgium asked

"We're going… to open the floodgates- let in the North Sea."

"B-but sir- you're talking- you're going to drown Flanders!"

"I know, Belgium. But this has to be done. If we don't stop the Germans, there may not be a Flanders left."

"This's a shit plan," Ireland put in. "So're ye mad, or jist extra-stupid?"

Belgium and King Albert glared at him, but he plowed on as if he didn't notice.

"Oi mean, d'ye e'en _consider_ whit this'll mean fer the Flemish? 'Course ye don', 'cause yer a damn king. _Yer _headed back ter Brussels."

"Seán…" Scotland said warningly.

"Foine. See'f Oi care." Ireland stomped off, muttering to himself. "Bleddy kings. They're the same the damn world o'er, the bastards."

"Give the orders," Albert ordered.

_**So there you have it. There was some Ireland, being as bad-tempered as always. Next time will be Giuseppe Garibaldi, unless some other inspiration strikes me.**_


End file.
